DANCING THE ARCANE GROOVE
DANCING THE ARCANE GROOVE
Don’t Let It Rain on Your Parade
ar·cane/ ärˈkān
adjective
understood by few; mysterious or secret
He talks of dancing and his smile
comes to life. No doldrums here
in his arcane place. Years fall
from his face. He’s answering a call
from another time. He’s got the calls
down tight. All the steps right.
Wearing his Westerns he moves
with an arcane groove
smooth sparkle of a smile
and a glint of magic. He’s not
another person but the one
he really is. He follows
a sequence of steps. Turns
back years, turning back time
to the place of nice people.
Guys and gals spinning.
Perky skirts twirling.
78s whirling.
Happy place of no bummers
and arcane language. Place
where nice people groove
to archaic dance moves
where people don’t know the word
groove but they’re doing it anyway.
His eyes glint like disco balls
but no Bee Gees where he’s gone.
They’re making the calls.
Gals swirling the skirts.
He’s keeping up.
This is some spunky fun.
He’s telling the stories
of the moves that he makes.
Each step takes him
to a distant arcane place.
Old man’s making the calls
But he’s keeping up.
He won’t sit it out.
Won’t break down the squares.
Tapping his legs as he tells
his many stories. He’s gotta get there
fast. Goes back in a flash.
He’s got the Wrong Way
Promenade right. Weaving the Ring
with some Slam Effect Swing.
He’s using arcane language
describing an arcane place.
Arcane ritual with a barn dance call.
Arcane rites with fiddles and strings.
Arcane planet spinning
78rpm. Thrum and hum
of the needle skipping lanes
of grooves in vinyl.
He’s dancing to beats.
Mr. Moonlight calling the steps.
It’s sugar time for swirly girls
red boots and button downs.
He circles to the left,
circles to the right.
Stops with a sudden
dimming of the lights.
He comes back strumming
his guitar. We talk of news
and how we don’t read it.
It’s a bummer. And who needs
that? When you can
Backtrack and Box the Gnat.
No bummers in the place
where he’s keeping pace
and holding down the square
keeping arcane time. His smile
turns corners doing a Half
Sashay. A slight misstep
and his light starts to fade.
His eyes dim and flash.
Can’t make up their mind.
Caught between worlds.
I toss him a line.
Say, “A smile is just a frown
turned upside down.”
His lights start blinking.
He’s got this move
does a double-pass through
and falls right in step
with the arcane groove.
I leave him there with a smile
and a wave. Say, “Don’t let it rain
on your parade” Records
start spinning. Gals swirl
and whirl. Time machine
churning. “Never,” he says.
Except for when it does.
But with a Backbend Balance
he can clear the sky. He can
bend the line
keeping time out of time.
in the arcane place
with a smile on his face.
I guess I just wasn’t made for these times. (Brian Wilson)